


The Promise of Tomorrow

by Prix



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hope, Pining, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 01:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21347932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prix/pseuds/Prix
Summary: Sayaka knows that it can't last forever.
Relationships: Miki Sayaka/Sakura Kyouko
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Thirteen





	The Promise of Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the [**Happy Ending**](https://prixmium.dreamwidth.org/15190.html) square on my [trope_bingo](https://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card because I'm still so happy-sad about the _Rebellion_ content for my darlings. 
> 
> Rated for allusion to teenage desire-feelings. 
> 
> I'm trying really hard to get better at shorter fics. Please let me know if this is any good!

Sayaka knows now. She knows not only that in the very last  _ loop _ before the end of the world that was, Kyouko had tried to kill her. She also knows that Kyouko had tried to save her from herself. But that isn’t all she knows. She also remembers, at least in the form of reflections and flashes, all the lives she’d lived before during those few weeks. Each time, she had been doomed to follow the same path, right down to her end. 

Kyouko hadn’t been. Sometimes, Kyouko hadn’t even been there at all. She was one of the only parts in Homura’s endless recursion of time that changed anything. And they don’t remember it at all. 

Sayaka knows this as she sees Kyouko’s red hair splayed out all across a pillow she has shoved into her bed. 

“Scoot over. I can’t sleep,” she’d said earlier. And now she is sleeping, peacefully, sometimes snoring softly. The first couple of times, it had bothered Sayaka. Now she can fall asleep to the sound of it. Sometimes, she finds her hand resting against Kyouko’s stomach. Other times on her hip. And Kyouko never complains. In fact, she sometimes sees a little flash of sharp teeth in her grin when Kyouko is awake to notice it. 

But for now, she isn’t awake, and in the relative silence Sayaka is aware of the artifice of this world. This dream. 

Somewhere in the apartment, Sayaka’s parents are asleep. They haven’t noticed and haven’t cared that Kyouko often abandons her place in the small, third bedroom and comes to Sayaka’s bed instead. But they do notice other things. After all, they had agreed to let Kyouko stay with them when she had dragged her home one day, all but kicking and screaming. 

At least she hadn’t been trying to kill her. 

Some things are better here. A lot of things, actually. Up and down, she watches the rise and fall of Kyouko’s chest as she breathes. She is real. Even if this place can never last, she is the  _ real _ Kyouko. 

Sometimes, when they are on their way to school, Kyouko presses herself fast against her side and will not let her take a single step without the warmth of her body pressed to her. 

Sometimes, when they are at the ramen shop, Kyouko eats half her noodles, too, leaning in close to her face. 

Sometimes, Kyouko yells for her to come and talk to her while she takes a bath, not wanting to be left alone for too long. 

And so much of the time, when Kyouko looks into Sayaka’s eyes, Sayaka sees warmth and attention there that she had once longed for from someone else. And it is hers, and she doesn’t even need to question it. In those eyes, she sees the promise of  _ more _ . 

The promise of  _ someday _ . Someday, she would feel the press of Kyouko’s lips against hers. Someday, sharing  _ their  _ bed would have a new meaning. Someday, every day, always, they would face the future together. 

Except, that promise is a lie. 

Sayaka quietly reaches over and draws some of Kyouko’s long hair up and through her fingers. She has pulled it away from being stuck on her lips, dried from mouth-breathing and half-damp from saliva. It’s a little gross, and it makes Sayaka stifle a soft chuckle with a snort. But then she doesn’t want to stop playing with her hair, fingertips touching the side of her arm. She breathes in and out, trying to take every moment she can with her. 

She can’t trust the promise of “someday,” but maybe she has the promise of “tomorrow.” 


End file.
